


Silk & Lace

by RowboatCop



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: (without having watched the finale), Coulson in panties and silk stockings, Dom!Daisy, Established Relationship, F/M, Face-Sitting, Future Fic, Hand Jobs, I HAVE A NEW KINK NOW, Light Dom/sub, Post Season 3, Stripping, Women's Underwear, pre-negotiations of kink, sub!Phil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 06:59:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6971878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/pseuds/RowboatCop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As they celebrate being home after months on the run, Coulson tries on a few of the nicer disguise pieces Daisy has acquired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silk & Lace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skyepilot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/gifts).



“You don’t have to help me,” she tells him as he trails behind her into her quarters.

“I know. I…” Coulson swallows a grimace. “Would you rather I leave you alone?”

“No,” Daisy smiles at him and takes his hand, tugs him through the door and over to where her bag sits on the bed. “No, Coulson, I’d like it if you’d help.”

He can’t hold back a smile, a little too grateful because he can’t seem to bring himself to let her out of his sight. As he watches, she opens the bag on her bed and pulls out a shirt, then walks it over to the closet.

Quickly, Coulson takes over emptying her bag, handing her the garments leftover from her time on the run so she can hang them up in _her_ closet, in _her_ room, in _her_ home ( _their_ home).

 _Their home_ is such a good thought.

“You bought a lot of clothes,” Coulson laughs at the quantity and also the wide range of styles — he’s seen most of it, of course, even if from a distance, but they all look different when they’re folded into a bag instead of draped over her body.

“I needed a lot of disguises,” she shrugs off her answer, though it's definitely true. There are also at least a dozen wigs in her bag, all of which fit nicely over her newly shorn hair. “And Gideon Malick had _a lot_ of money.”

That’s definitely true, too.

Coulson laughs as he picks up a red silk dress, obviously very expensive. The material slips through his fingers, a sensory pleasure that makes him smile.

“I never saw you in this.”

She raises an eyebrow at him.

“Because you saw me in so many of these outfits?”  

“I _was_ following you for a long time before I…” ... _caught you_ , he doesn’t say, but he grips the dress in his left hand so he can bring his right up to touch her cheek, tracing her cheek bone up to her ear.

“I think you mean before _I_ …” _...let you_ , she doesn’t say, but she tilts her head into his hand, goes all soft and lets him support the weight of her head.

Coulson leans forward to kiss her, soft and a little tentative and the first time in _their home_.

It’s still new, this thing between them, has so far been kept to clandestine meetings in hotel rooms, moments when he could slip away from Mack, and he can’t hold back a smile now that they’ve finally made it here.

“What?” She asks, though she’s smiling, too.

“We don’t have to hide anymore,” he whispers against her lips. “You’re home. We’re home.”

“Home,” she repeats, something reverent in her voice as she opens her mouth under his, kisses him deeply.

Coulson doesn’t break away until he tries to wrap his left arm around her and is hampered by the silk dress. He pulls back and looks down at the garment. He can’t feel the slip of silk in his left hand, in the prosthetic, but he can still imagine it, the way it would feel on her body, under his right hand.

“We should celebrate,” he suggests as he holds up the dress.

“You just want to see me wearing that dress.”

He grins at her, a little shy, almost nervous about the fact that he _does_ want that. He wants to see her bare shoulders in the halter top, wants to run his hands down her body and feel the slip of silk under his palm.

“I’m sure you looked gorgeous.”

“I never wore it,” she shakes her head. “But I bought…”

Daisy tugs away from him and rustles through her bag, from which she pulls a set of red underwear and matching garter belt along with silk stockings in the same golden tan shade of her skin.

Coulson swallows.

“Those are...interesting,” he manages, trying not to sound as completely aroused as he is. “Are those...silk?”

She nods.

He swallows.

“I figured it’s necessary spy gear,” Daisy shrugs, and Coulson frowns in return.

“But you don’t like it.”

“Not really,” she grimaces. “But obviously _you_ do.”

“They look...comfortable?”

“Which part looks comfortable, exactly?” She smiles at him, gently mocking but with good humor. “The thong, or the garter belt?”

He laughs and approaches her, rubs his fingers over the stockings.

“They’re soft,” he corrects himself. “They’d feel nice under your hand.”

“Running up your leg?”

“Hmm,” he agrees quietly because thinking about touching Daisy’s legs in silk stockings is a _good_ thought.

She runs her hand over the silk, and her lips curve into a smile.

“You wanna test that out?”

She looks excited all the sudden, and he’s nodding before he fully absorbs what that means. As he processes it, she raises a challenging eyebrow, and his stomach flutters: one part nerves and one part sudden thrumming arousal.

“You want me to...put these on?”

A hint of trepidation enters her expression.

“Unless you —”

“No. I mean, yes. Of course. I will.” He closes his eyes at the obvious sound of eagerness in his voice.

There’s an awkward stretch because it is, by far, the kinkiest thing they’ve discussed in their brief time together.

It’s not like they’ve had _time_ for anything more than crashing together in hotel rooms, barely enough time to press themselves together before she passed over information about who needed protecting, just enough for him to help. Just enough for him to keep the ATCU off her back for another week.

There’s not been time to discuss specific likes and dislikes, to talk about what turns them on, but _this_? This definitely turns him on, and it’s scary, wondering if it’s just a joke to her.

“You don’t have to,” she’s offering, giving him a way out and looking just nervous enough to make it clear that it’s not a joke, that it matters to her that he said yes.

It makes his belly warm, makes him unable to hold back a smile as he pulls the pile of undergarments from her arms.

“You want to watch?”

Daisy presses her lips together and looks from him to the bed, and then dumps her bag onto the floor, clearing a spot for her to recline against the headboard.

“Okay, go.”

He laughs, breathy and nervous, suddenly shy, unsure of how to proceed.

“Start by taking off your shirt,” she suggests, seeming to relax about this, which makes him more relaxed, too.

Coulson smiles at her and drops the pile of her underwear on the bed before he pulls open his collar, quickly working open the first few buttons before she calls out:

“Slower.”

He looks at her through his eyelashes, feeling his cheeks heat up under her frankly admiring gaze.

He pops the next button and draws his finger down the undershirt it exposes.

“Better?”

“Yeah,” Daisy agrees, and settles back into the bed like she’s getting comfortable. “Keep going.”

Coulson tugs his shirt out of his slacks and finishes the buttons, then slides it off his shoulders and tosses it to her.

“Ohhh, nice move, Phil” Daisy laughs, and brings his shirt up to smell the collar, hiding her smile in the cotton as she takes a deep, slow breath. It’s undeniably sexy to watch her breathe him in, to think about how she wants him.

(Daisy wants him. _Daisy_ wants him. Daisy _wants_ him. Daisy wants _him_.)

He exhales a shaky breath and clenches his jaw.

“This next?” He asks, tugging at one of the tank straps on his undershirt.

“No. Your shoes.”

He nods and slips out of them and his socks, drops them off to the side of the bed, and then waits. She licks her lips as she looks him over, and it makes his lower belly tingle. It’s not something he’s ever _fully_ acknowledged about himself, that he likes being looked at like this, that he likes being told what to do.

It’s hard not to squirm a little, hard not to think about where else this could go, what negotiations could lie ahead.

“Have you ever worn women’s underwear before?”

“In a costume,” he admits, watching as she raises an interested eyebrow. “Doctor Frank-N-Furter.”

She nods, bites back a smile and instead sucks her upper lip between her teeth as she looks him over.

“And who talked you into that?”

“No one,” he shrugs. He frequented some midnight shows when he was just out of high school, just before he was recruited into SHIELD. Places where he was allowed to explore his queerness, try on some different ways of being. But ways that he always took off in the morning.

“You wanted to put on a corset.”

It makes him blush, but she’s not wrong, and Daisy shoots him a knowing smile. (He can tell she’s thinking about what could happen between them, those possible future negotiations, too.)

“Take off your pants.” She makes no pretense that it’s anything but an order.

He follows the order (he’s good at that, at following orders), and takes his time unbuckling his belt and then looks into her eyes as he runs his hands down to touch his cock. (She said to go slow.)

He can’t help but smile at the way her eyes follow his hand, and he scratches the back of his fingernail over the head of his cock through the layers of cotton, shivering at the combined sensation of his hand and her eyes.

“Your pants, Coulson,” she repeats, and he clenches his jaw against the urgency in her voice.

He undoes the button at his waist and tugs down the zipper, lets his slacks fall around his ankles, and then drops his fingers back to touch himself through his boxer briefs, wrapping his hand around himself as much as he can.

“You’re eager,” Daisy laughs the words, and then tugs off her t-shirt, revealing her lack of a bra beneath it. Coulson groans, squeezing his hand around himself harder as he watches her cup her breasts.

“You’re so beautiful,” he sighs, forcing his hand off of his cock and dipping his fingers into his waistband.

“Even with my hair?”

She lifts her right hand off her breast and ruffles the top of her head self-consciously, and he can’t believe that it’s been so many months and she’s still unsure about the close-cropped cut.

“Yes,” he laughs. “You’re gorgeous.”

She smiles, like she was fully aware but still wanted the compliment.

“Your shirt,” she orders, so he tugs off the tank and tosses it to her, squirming a little as she once again brings it up to her nose before dropping it onto the bed beside her.

He feels exposed like this, his scar out in the open. It’s not like Daisy hasn’t seen it before, but they’ve never taken their time like this; she’s never made a show of looking at his chest.

“You’re really sexy,” she tells him, like she knows he’s nervous and wants to soothe him.

“Yeah,” he rolls his eyes because he knows that whatever it is Daisy sees in him, it’s not about what he looks like.

“You _are_.” She frowns at him, like she finds it offensive that he doesn’t believe her, and he does his best to look contrite. “Take off the boxers.”

He nods and does it, pushes them down to his ankles and kicks them to the side, and then stands back up, his hands dropped to his sides as he suddenly finds himself unsure what to do with them.

There’s a long pause, awkward again, and then — like she’s purposefully breaking the tension — Daisy struggles out of her jeans, leaving herself naked.

She’s beautiful, all bare skin sprawled across the bed, and he’s not had a chance to look at her like this, either: to just take his time running his eyes over her body, appreciating everything about her.

Her breasts rise and fall with each breath as she repositions herself up against the headboard, watching him as much as he watches her.

“Touch yourself, Phil.” It comes off less like an order — more unsure, almost a question. But he watches her hand slip between her thighs as he curls his fingers around his bare cock, stroking himself to fully hard.

It’s easy to forget about his nerves, his worries about being exposed, as he watches her fingers move, her hips rock in tight circles, her head tilt backwards against the headboard. His fingers itch to touch her instead of himself.

“Daisy,” he whispers, drawing in a breath and moaning, more at her obvious pleasure than the feeling in his own body.

When she sits up, she makes a show of licking off her fingers, of the obscene slide of her tongue between them before they disappear past her lips, and he has to let go of his cock as it almost pulses in his hand.

He’s still a little dazed when she tosses the panties at him, but he manages to catch the thong.

It’s full cut in the front, a wide triangle of red silk trimmed with red lace, but when he holds it up over his erection, Daisy laughs.

“You think it’ll fit?” He asks the question with a wry smile, though he can’t quite keep himself from from wrapping the silk around himself, shivering at the sensation of the fabric over sensitive skin.

“I think you can manage it,” Daisy answers, and then watches with interest as he leans down to step into the garment and tug it up his thighs.

The silk is soft over his skin, and he maneuvers his erection to the right, tucking it into the silk and shaking his hips a little against the feel of the thong pulling up between his cheeks.

“Comfortable?” Daisy asks, a hint of mocking in her voice at his earlier statement.

“Soft,” he corrects her with a grin, though he grimaces as he shifts his hips again and adjusts his balls up and away from the elastic band running between his legs.

He’s not lying, though. It’s soft, feels nice as he runs his fingers along the line of his cock under the silk.

“Turn around,” she requests, and Coulson turns his back to her, self consciously running his right hand down to touch the bare lower half of his ass cheek.

“How’s it look?”

“ _Very_ nice,” Daisy answers.

He turns to look at her over his shoulder, a little surprised by the way she’s looking at him with arousal, her fingers back between her thighs. She exhales noisily and then stops touching herself in order to lean forward and grab the garter belt.

It’s made of a wide band of red, stretchy lace that sits low on his hips, and once it’s on, Daisy rises from the bed and runs her hands down his chest to touch it, her fingertips dancing over the lace pattern before she’s touching him through the silk panties.

Coulson can’t hold back a groan, can’t stop himself from thrusting his hips forward towards her hand, but otherwise he remains passive, hands by his sides while Daisy touches him.

“This is really hot,” she murmurs just before leaning up enough to kiss him, her mouth almost rough against his as her fingers curve around his cock.

“Daisy,” he grunts her name as her touch sears through him so heat drips down his legs and he’s throbbing, but then she pushes him back towards the bed, guiding him to sit down on the edge.

“I want to do this part,” she tells him as she falls to her knees in front of him and grabs one of the stockings from the bed.

He manages to nod, holding himself very stiff against the feeling of the thong pulling up between his legs. It makes it impossible to relax, to get away from the sensations that make his whole lower body pulse.

“Coulson?”

“Hmm?”

He snaps his gaze down to meet hers and realizes he’s missed something she’s said.

“You’re, like, _super_ turned on right now, huh?”

“Yes,” he agrees, his voice too high pitched.

When her fingers drift back over the crotch of the panties, he whimpers desperately, but shifting his hips on the bed just makes it worse.

“Breathe,” she orders, and he sucks in a breath, able to relax a bit because she pulls back. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he manages, swallowing down his arousal and taking another deep breath. “Yeah.”

It gets him a grin, and then she taps on his left foot, directing him to raise it up so she can begin to roll one of the stockings up his leg.

“You were right,” she half-whispers as she rubs her hands up his leg behind the stocking, “This feels really good.”

“Yes,” he agrees. It feels amazing, her hands gliding over his leg without the resistance of his leg hair, different from the immediate arousal of her hands on the panties over his cock, more languid and sensual.

She’s careful as she finishes rolling the stocking all the way up, her fingers hitting his bare upper thigh before she clips it in place, first in front and then behind.

“Feel,” Daisy invites him, drawing his right hand down to his knee and running it over the silk. He hums at the sensation, both on his leg and under his palm.

“It’s _nice_ ,” he agrees. “Do the other one.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, and he blushes because she’s obviously the one who has taken on the order-giving role tonight. And he’s obviously — happily — accepted it.

“Please?” He adds, lowering his eyes in an attempt at conscious submission.

Daisy laughs and reaches for the other stocking, and he raises his leg obediently as she rolls it up his limb.

The last time he put on stockings, it was fake — more of a gag — and they were fishnets, none of this same sensual pleasure, none of the visual of his legs smooth and shapely. This is nicer.

Better.

Coulson closes his eyes and just enjoys the feeling of silk sliding up his legs, of her hands moving over the silk.

Once it’s clipped in place, he opens his eyes and looks down to watch her hands slide up and down the stockings. For the first time, he can imagine their little scene from the outside, and it makes him flush.

“Do you like it?” He asks, his voice almost cracking under a wave of arousal.

Daisy’s hands complete a circuit up to the top of the stockings and then up to cup him through the panties again, rubbing him through the fabric.

“Yeah,” she whispers, then looks up at him with concern. “Is that…” She frowns at him. “Is that okay? That I like it?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, perhaps a little too adamant. And he wants to curl his fingers behind her head and pull her up to kiss her, but he keeps his hands submissively by his sides. “Kiss me?” He requests instead, and then melts forward when she surges up on her knees to do so.  

She’s obviously desperate, climbing up onto the bed between his legs as her fingers clutch at the back of his head, her tongue sliding along his, and he gives up his attempts at passivity to wrap his arms around her waist, letting his hands roam over naked skin.

“Scoot,” she orders, the word only a little muffled against his lips as she pushes him backwards.

Coulson lands on his back and breathes out a laugh while he scoots backwards, letting her crawl up between his legs.

Once he’s scooched all the way up the bed, Daisy pauses and runs her hands up his legs, and he raises them obediently to let her get her fill.

“You like this?” She asks, her voice a little tentative as she splays her fingers wide at the top of his inner thighs, just at the top of the stockings.

“Yeah,” he answers through a smile, unable to stop his hips from pressing up towards her.

Daisy grins and crawls up over his body to kiss him, pressing her pelvis against his and grinding down so that he grunts into her mouth and wraps his legs around her hips.

As she kisses him, she grips his hands and presses them up next to his head, and then pulls back to look down at him with something like indecision.

“What?” He asks, smiling up at her, narrowing his eyes in confusion.

“Could I…?” She frowns and trails off.

“Yes,” he answers decisively because it’s obvious that she can do or have pretty much whatever she wants.

“You don’t know what I was going to ask.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

She raises an eyebrow at him and then releases his hands in order to crawl up his body until her knees are planted by his ears. He quickly catches on and wraps his hands around her waist in order to tug her down against his eager mouth.

They’ve barely managed any oral sex, no time for extended foreplay in their time together so far, let alone Daisy pressed against him like this, and it’s fantasy fulfillment. He’s thought about it, about going down on her, about making her come like this, and it’s just _better_ than whatever fevered fantasies he’s had.

His tongue makes a careful circuit before he begins a firm, fast pattern of circles against her clitoris.

“That’s good, Coulson,” he can _almost_ hear, though her thighs are pressed hard enough on each side of his head that everything is muffled. Her hips start rocking over him, and he moans again, which turns into an annoyed grunt when she sits up, pulling herself off of him.

“Daisy, what —”

“Shh,” she hushes him and then turns herself around so that when she pushes herself back against his face he can easily push his tongue up inside of her.

Daisy shudders on top of him and leans down so she’s grinding against his chin, and then rubs her fingers over his cock.

Coulson wraps his arms around her as much as he can and bucks his hips up against her hand, groaning against her as she begins to jack him off through the panties, silk slipping over his cock.

It’s very quickly more than he can handle, the taste of her and her body over his and her fingers and the silk.

“Daisy,” he tries to grunt, tries to warn her, but he can feel her coming around his tongue at the same time that he begins to pulse in her hand. His orgasm hits in waves that makes him clutch at her waist, shockingly intense after the buildup of the whole evening.

He keeps working his tongue, though, until Daisy slides off of him, collapsing at his side and heaving in deep, slow breaths.

“How’s that for celebrating being back home?” She asks, slightly out of breath with just a little bit of laughter in her voice.

He laughs and turns to press a kiss to Daisy’s inner thigh, unable to hold back a smile.

“Really good celebration.”

“Welcome home, AC,” she smiles back at him, and Coulson kisses her leg again, pressing his smile against her skin.

“Welcome home, Agent Johnson.”


End file.
